The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 632: Aftermath 1
The night finally calmed down, but it didn’t calm down in a gentle way. But there was still tension in the air and the people were still obviously shaken because of the sudden attack.
Outside the west wall, the snow had been trampled into ugly, muddy slush.
Broken arrows were scattered everywhere, half buried in red-stained snow, like someone had thrown toothpicks into a bowl of soup and expected it to look appetizing.
A few masked bodies lay on the ground, twisted at uncomfortable angles. Their ugly masks made them look even more pitiful, because now they couldn’t even die with dignity.
It was actually ridiculous that even the surrounding beastmen could not help but curse at them while still feeling sorry for them.
These men had come in the middle of winter, covering their faces like cowardly thieves, acting like they were about to take over the world.
In the end, they couldn’t even take a single fence post.
Several village males stood on the wall, panting heavily. Their chests rose and fell, steam puffing out of their mouths with every breath.
Their hands were still tight around their weapons, because their bodies hadn’t caught up to the fact that the enemy had already started retreating.
Even if their eyes could see the attackers’ shadows pulling away, their instincts kept screaming one thing.
Don’t relax.
This was the Beast World. The moment you relaxed, you became meat.
Yet most of them were still shocked because they all knew they name of their village had already traveled far, even to most big cities.
And their reputation was becoming well known. Yet these men still dared to attack at a time like this. Which could only mean their enemy was not someone small but big to not be scared of their growing influence.
Kian’s voice rang out, cold and steady, carrying over the wall and cutting through the last messy shouts. "Stop chasing. Secure the wall. Count our wounded first."
His gaze swept over the warriors like a king counting his own teeth. He didn’t look tired, even though he had been standing like a mountain through the whole fight.
His expression didn’t soften, even though the village had just survived a real test. That was the kind of king he was. He didn’t get drunk on victory. He stayed sober because he knew another bite could always come.
"The enemy retreated because they failed, not because they suddenly grew a conscience," Kian continued. "If you chase too far, you will walk into an ambush and die like fools. Do you want to die like fools?"
No one answered, because no one wanted to admit they had briefly thought about chasing.
Even Isabella gave him an awkward smile. If she had not been heavily pregnant already. Then she herself would have personally hunted them down and wiped them out.
Kian gave her a blank scolding stare as if he could read her mind already.
"Heh" Isabella flashed him a smile then quickly turned away.
The guards immediately started moving. A few rushed to the rope points to check damage. Others ran to the watchtowers to scan the forest edges.
Several hunters climbed down to the base of the wall to search for hidden attackers. Even the younger boys who had begged to join patrols earlier were pushed back by older men, told to go help carry bandages and hot water instead of pretending to be heroes.
Isabella stood near the west watchtower, her fan closed in her hand. The wind was cold, and the heavy weight of her stomach pulled at her lower back, making her want to sit down immediately.
At the same time, her mind felt strangely clear, the way it always did after danger passed. She looked down at the bodies outside the wall and felt her mood sour.
So they really came to test her village.
So they really came to steal.
So they really came to take her too, if they could.
These people were truly disgusting.
Her babies kicked once, hard enough to make her inhale sharply. She pressed her palm to her belly instinctively, then frowned.
"Don’t join the fight," she murmured softly. "Your mother already has enough problems. You all stay quiet. Be good."
The babies ignored her completely.
Isabella’s lips twitched. Honestly, these children did not seem to have their fathers’ personality in anyway, something told her they would be really stubborn.
A few steps away, Cyrus stood as if he had been nailed in place.
Blood stained his fingers, dark and sticky. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to make his hands look unfamiliar, like they belonged to someone else. His breathing was slightly chaotic, and the pink in his eyes looked deeper than usual, like it hadn’t fully cooled down yet.
Cyrus lowered his gaze and stared at his hands.
He should have felt disgust and fear.
Instead, he felt a strange tightness in his chest, as if something inside him had been fed for the first time in a long time.
It felt good.
The realization hit him like a slap.
Cyrus’s throat moved, his expression turning pale. His fingers flexed slowly. The blood cracked slightly, dried by cold air. The sensation of it made his stomach twist.
What was wrong with him?
He had killed before, yes. He had done things he did not want to remember. But tonight, the way his body moved and the way his speed erupted, the way his aura crushed that attacker like paper, it had felt too easy.
Too natural and satisfying.
Cyrus’s chest tightened painfully.
"If she sees this side of me," he thought, "will she still rest her head on my tail like it is a pillow? Will she still laugh and call me her soft husband?"
He felt ridiculous thinking like that. This was the Beast World. People killed to survive all the time. Isabella herself had cut limbs off poachers without blinking.
But Cyrus knew the difference.
This was not survival instinct.
This was something older. Something trained. Something stained.
Isabella took a careful step toward him. Her heart tightened as she watched his shoulders trembling slightly, as if he were holding something inside with pure stubbornness. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like seeing Cyrus like this, stiff and pale, as if he were trying to peel himself away from his own skin.
"Cyrus," she called softly.
